“Dana and I are following a lead. Listen, I was wondering if you could do something for me?”
I heard a sound like a war whooping in the background. “What?” Mom yelled.
I resisted the urge to cover my ear. “Where are you?”
“Mrs. Rosenblatt and I dragged Pierre out to a champagne bar. Mrs. Rosenblatt’s on her second bottle and dancing the Cancan.”
I had a sudden unwelcome vision of Mrs. R’s muumuu hiked up to her knees, her thunder thighs kicking heavenward. I shuddered.
“Listen, could you do something for me when you get back to the hotel?” I yelled into the phone.
“Sure. Shoot, Mads.”
“I need Felix’s address.” I filled her on in all I’d learned at the club. (Okay, maybe not all I’d learned. I left out the parts about the leashes and paddles.)
“Okay,” she said when I finished. “We’ll hit the business center as soon as we get back.”
I thanked her (though I wasn’t entirely sure she heard me over Mrs. Rosenblatt’s hollering) and hung up.
“Now what?” Dana asked.
It was late, I was tired and my stomach still felt wobbly thinking about Felix and the massive fast one he’d pulled over on me. “Let’s get a room somewhere.”
We piled back in the cab, and asked Mathew to take us to a hotel nearby, preferably one that wouldn’t make my Visa wince. Jean Luc had taken care of the travel expenses for the Paris trip, but they didn’t cover a detour into London. And, with my designs in police custody, I wasn’t entirely sure my bank account had any hope of growing beyond Hamburger Helper size in the near future.
I leaned my head back on the vinyl seat, watching the dark London streets whiz past the window at a rate that sent nausea washing through me again. The more I thought about it, the more foolish I felt for ever trusting a guy like Felix. I’d been the one pleading with Ramirez to get him out of jail. What if it turned out he belonged there? I knew Felix had a moral compass that pointed just this side of North, but had he really offed his girlfriend? Even worse, would he have framed me for it?
I had to admit at that part my stomach clenched the worst. Not that I’d thought I meant anything to Felix. I didn’t. And he meant nothing to me. We weren’t even friends. More like acquaintances that sometimes bumped into each other.
Lips first.
I closed my eyes, willing myself not to think about it.
Mathew pulled us up in front of the Queen’s Cozy Inn and let us out. He gave me one backward glance in his rearview mirror, eyes still wary, before collecting his fare and pulling away from the curb. I had a bad feeling that if Dana and I didn’t find the real killer soon, that was the kind of look I was doomed to for life.
After handing over my credit card to the frizzy haired girl on duty behind the desk, Dana and I were shown to a room on the second floor. The bed was standard issue, the duvet a pastel floral print. A scarred dresser sat at one end, a tiny bathroom the other. A television set with rabbit ears sat on the dresser and above that hung a framed lithograph of Queen Elizabeth. The Ritz, it was not. But I didn’t care. All I wanted was sleep. Hopefully in the morning things would make more sense.
* * *
The room was dark. A single lamp gave off a dim red glow, bathing the room in a light eerily reminiscent of blood. I held my breath, searching through the darkness for him. I wasn’t sure who I was looking for, but I knew I had to find him. People were everywhere, bumping up against me, crowding in from all angles. Then I heard the crowd cheering, yelling, hollering. I fought my way through them, pushing and shoving, straining on tip-toe to see around them. He had to be here somewhere. I fought my way through the growing crowd to the front. And, there in the center of the room, standing under a bright red spotlight, was Mrs. Rosenblatt, wearing a leather corset and wielding a long, leather riding crop.
“Hey, Mads, wanna play?” she asked, flicking her wrist, the crop doing a menacing snap in the air. The crowd cheered again.
I turned, ready to run from the room.
When I saw him.
I froze. Unable to look away. Felix. He was watching me from the other side of the room. Staring me down.
Suddenly Mrs. Rosenblatt and the rest of the crowd disappeared. It was just Felix and me. Eyes locked on each other. I tried to speak, but it was like I’d eaten too much peanut butter, my mouth sticky, refusing to open.
Felix closed the distance between us, his eyes intent on mine, a little half smile playing on his lips like he knew a secret that I didn’t. He was coming closer, almost floating across the room in slow motion. I tried to speak, tried to move, but my feet were glued to the spot, my limbs too heavy to lift.
Suddenly he was so close he was almost on top of me. “Maddie,” he whispered.
He reached and grabbed my arm with one hand, the other lifting above his head, wielding a black stiletto heel.
Then I really did scream.
* * *
I sat up straight in bed, sweat pouring down my back, my breath coming out in German shepard pants. My eyes whipped around the room, searching for any remnants of the red light, the crowd, the black high heel. Nothing, just a TV, scarred dresser and photo of the queen. And Dana snoring beside me.
I slowly laid back, adrenalin coursing through my limbs, and closed my eyes. It was just a dream.
One that, in light of yesterday’s revelations, seemed all too real. That was it. I had to talk to Felix.
I rolled over and looked at the clock. 7:15. With a groan, I slid out of bed and hopped into a lukewarm shower. I turned my panties inside out and redressed in yesterday’s clothes, digging in my purse for mascara and lip gloss. Since the hair dryer in the bathroom didn’t work, I twisted my wet hair into a French braid and figured I was halfway passable.
I emerged from the bathroom to find Dana yawning, flipping through channels on the television set.
“You were on channel two,” she informed me.
“Swell.” I plopped down on the bed.
“And Jean Luc called. He said he needs me for a fitting at one. Sorry, Maddie, this Angel has to get back.”
I nodded. “I understand.” Not everyone’s career was in the toilet. “I’ll drop you at the airport. Oh, and by the way,” I added as she made for the bathroom, “there’s no hot water.”
I flipped off the TV as Dana shut the bathroom door and I heard water start to run. The last thing I wanted to encounter this early in the morning was another candid shot of myself.
Instead, I grabbed my cell and tried Felix’s number again. As before, it went straight to voicemail. I bit my lip, trying to tell my stomach to shut up.
Instead, I bit the bullet and dialed Ramirez’s cell. I prayed hard to the saint of forgiving boyfriends as I listened to it ring once, then twice. On the third ring he picked up.
“That was a dirty trick,” he said, his voice hard.
“Sorry?” Only it came out more of a question.
“Where the hell are you, Maddie?”
“Um…” I looked around the room. The Queen stared back at me. “I’m safe.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Listen, I just wanted to call to tell you that I’m okay, not to worry, and I’ll be back soon.”
“Where. Are. You.”
“I’m following a lead.”
There was silence. Then he muttered a curse in Spanish. “Maddie, detectives follow leads. The police follow leads. Fashion designers draw fluffy little shoes. What the hell are you doing?”
“I have to clear my name, Jack. Do you know I was in the London Times yesterday?”
“London?”
Oops. I slapped a hand over my mouth. “Or so I heard,” I added feebly.
“Maddie, listen, you’ve got to have a little faith in the system. Moreau will get to the bottom of this. But you running around following your so called leads is just going to make things worse. This disappearing act doesn’t exactly make you look innocent.”
As much a
s I loved him, it was the “so-called” thing that put me over the edge.
“I’ll be back tonight,” I said. Then hung up, cutting Ramirez off mid curse.
Ramirez might have faith in Moreau, but the way he’d interrogated me, I certainly didn’t. And if I didn’t do it, someone else had. Someone that, as of right now, was not only ruining my life, but also getting away with murder.
I just hoped that someone wasn’t Felix.
* * *
After Dana got out of the shower, we both headed down to the Duck’s Head Pub on the corner where we ordered something called bangers and mash for breakfast. Which, when it arrived, turned out to be sausages and mashed potatoes. Personally, I thought it was pretty tasty. Dana, on the other hand, scrunched up her nose and asked the waitress if they had any grapefruit halves. The waitress gave her a funny look, then appeared with a mealy apple, saying it was the only fruit on premises. Dana ate the apple while I made yummy sounds all the way through my sausages.
By the time Dana had hit core, my cell chirped to life in my purse. I pulled it out to see Mom’s number on the LCD screen.
“Hello?” I asked, around a bite of mashed potatoes and thick onion gravy. I’m telling you, these Europeans know how to eat.
“We got it.” Mom relayed an address she and Mrs. R had found off a peerage directory website. It was in Hertfordshire, which, once Mom pulled up a Yahoo map, she informed me was just north of London.
I thanked her and promised I’d call her later. She said to take my time. After the Cancan display last night, Pierre had warmed to Mrs. R and they were all going on a river cruise up the Seine. I wondered if Pierre had “warmed” or been coerced under influence of champagne. Either way, I told her I hoped she had fun and hung up.
Dana and I quickly finished eating, then paid our bill and asked the waitress the best way to get to Hertfordshire. She suggested renting a car and taking the M1 straight up. She gave us directions and pointed us toward a car rental down the block.
Half an hour later, we were squeezed into one of the smallest cars in existence, Dana’s knees practically touching her chin as I tried to figure out the gear shift. The thing handled like a tin can on wheels and every time we went around a corner, I yelled, “Lean,” to Dana for fear we’d tip over.
By the sheer grace of God I managed to drive her to the airport without hitting anything. Even though I forgot and pulled onto the wrong side of the street twice.
After getting stuck for only fifteen minutes in the roundabout outside the terminal, I finally found my way to the motorway and headed out of the city, toward Hertfordshire.
A drive that was actually surprisingly pleasant. Rolling green hills spanned either side of the roadway, groves of trees dotting the landscape and a low, thin fog covering it all like something out of a postcard or an Enya song. Overall it was an effect that, by the time I was passing a large wooden sign that indicated my turn off, had helped diminish the nerves of possibly driving toward a murderer’s home.
I drove through a small, quaint village complete with stone chimneys and thatched roofs out of a Thomas Kincaid painting, and up a winding road that led to the address Mom had given me. I made a couple of wrong turns onto overgrown roads that had clearly seen better days, before finally finding the right one. I wound around a grove of trees until a large structure loomed in the distance. My jaw dropped open. It was a castle.
Felix lived in a freaking castle!?
When had my life become a twisted fairy tale?
Granted, it was small by castle standards. A brick structure with green moss growing along the sides. And I could clearly see modern additions had been made – double paned windows, paved driveway and car park, electric lights by the front door. But it still held two large brick turrets that I could easily see Rapunzel throwing a lock of hair from.
I parked my midget car in the massive drive, near a row of green hedges, and approached a huge wooden door that screamed for an alligator-filled moat.
A modern doorbell sat beside the door and I rang it, hearing the sound echo inside. I waited a beat before the door was pulled open and I found myself face to face with dear “old” Auntie.
It took her a moment before recognition registered.
“Maddie. What a surprise,” she said, looking behind me as if wondering where I’d come from. She was dressed today in a pair of slim, tailored slacks in a pale peach color that maximized her tan that, if the weather was any indication, was obviously fake. She paired the slacks with a short sleeved, white blouse, the sleeves cut on a bias that showed off the muscular curve of her upper arms. I silently wondered if the castle had a gym built in, too.
“Hi, Charlene. I was wondering if Felix is in?”
A small frown settled between her blonde brows. “Yes. But, I thought you were in Paris?”
“I was. I…” I paused, not really sure how to voice the jumble of thoughts that had been circulating through my head all day. “I need to talk to Felix.”
She arched a slim eyebrow, but, ever the polite Brit, stepped back to allow me entry. “Please, come in.”
I did, my crutches squeaking against the polished hardwood floor as she shut the door behind me. Inside, the modern conversion of the castle was even more apparent than the outside. In fact, the foyer looked like it could have belonged to any home in Beverly Hills – light airy rugs, sweeping staircase to the right, dark wood side table, and a crystal chandelier hanging above us.
“Felix is in the study,” Charlene said, leading the way down a wide hall. “He’s been on the phone with his lawyers all day. He was arrested in Paris, you know?” She paused, stopping to look at me. “Of course you know. You were there.”
I felt a guilty flush creep up my neck.
“Anyway,” she continued, “I flew home with him, though I’m due back in Paris tomorrow. I never miss the Hermes show. Felix is trying to get this matter cleared up to travel with me.”
She stopped outside an open door to a large, dark room. “If you’d like to wait here, I’ll fetch him for you,” she said, flicking on a light for me.
“Sure. Thanks, Charlene.”
She nodded, that frown settling between her brows again as she turned. It was clear she wasn’t fond of me. But, thankfully, she was too polite to let on. Instead, she swayed those very un-doddering hips down the hall, disappearing to the right.
I took a moment to look around the room she’d left me in. A massive stone fireplace taller than I was stood at one end. Above it were a pair of weapons – a stick thingie with a spiked metal ball at the end and some kind of sword. Very medieval looking. I shuddered. The same hardwood floors continued here, broken up with area rugs in deep burgundies and forest greens. Large, masculine furnishings filled the room, two sofas in dark leather, a pair of club chairs with ornate feet, a handful of end tables and an antique writing desk in the corner. I gingerly perched on the edge of one sofa, feeling like I’d entered a museum where some docent might pop out at any second and tell me to stay behind the ropes.
“Maddie.”
My head whipped around so fast I feared whiplash.
“Felix,” I squeaked out.
He was wearing his trademark white rumpled button down and khaki pants, a worn pair of sneakers on his feet. He leaned casually against the doorframe, his hands in his pockets. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
I licked my lips, my throat suddenly dry at the sight of him.
“I, uh, need to talk to you. Your phone was off.”
He frowned. “The battery died. What’s going on, are you all right?” He came into the room and sat down beside me. I immediately jumped up as if he’d shocked me. I licked my lips again as I wandered over near the fireplace. “Me? Yeah, uh, I’m fine.”
Again the frown. “What’s going on?”
I cleared my throat, not really sure what to say now that I was here. Being careful what I said around Felix was nothing new – let the wrong thing slip out and you were libel to be front page ne
ws next to Bigfoot. But being careful he didn’t stab me with my own pumps? That I was still trying to wrap my head around.
“Um, well, see, here’s the thing. I uh…” I took a deep breath. “Why didn’t you tell me you were dating Gisella?” I blurted out.
“Ah.” He rose from the sofa, taking a step toward me.
Instinctively, I took one back.
He frowned again, this one deep enough to create little lines between his eyebrows. “We went out a couple of times. Nothing serious. I didn’t think it relevant.”
“Relevant? Felix, she’s dead.”
His face became a blank. “Yes. I know.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been in her hotel room before? That you were at the party? Why did you keep this from me?”
“I didn’t. When I got the room key, I told you I’d been seeing her.”
“You told me you tricked the front desk into thinking you were seeing her.”
“I never said ‘tricked.’”
“You could have told me you were with her at the party.”
“We had a few drinks, I walked her to her hotel room. That was it.”
“And that was the last time you saw her?”
He paused. Then shook his head. “No. I saw her the night she died.”
“The night she died?” I thought back to what Angelica had said about hearing a man in the next room. “Ohmigod, you’re Mystery Man?”
Felix cocked his head to the side. “Who?”
“You… you were in her room the night she died. You were fighting. You slept with her, then starting fighting.”
Felix looked down at the floor, the toe of his sneaker toying with an invisible spot on the rug. He said in a low voice, “Yes, we fought. She wanted me to accompany her to a party the next night. I said I didn’t think we should see each other anymore. She got angry.”
“Wait, you were dumping a supermodel?” I asked with a snort. “Why do I find that hard to believe?”
High Heels Mysteries Boxed Set (Books 1-5) Page 89